Driving Out the Dark
by OrangeShipper
Summary: In the aftermath of the Somme, Matthew tries to drive out his demons. But is it really what he wants? Can he escape the ghost of his past? Vague s2 spoilers, majorly angsty smut warning.


A/N: _I'm not really sure what to say about this..._

_Essentially, a while back there was some discussion on who would be involved in s2's "sex scene". The prospect of Matthew/Lavinia was quickly dismissed because of course Matthew is too honourable, and wouldn't possibly consider it until he was married. The idea, of course, horrified me. But for some reason I found myself wondering about it, and considered that - under the right pressures - I could actually see it happening. Now, I don't think it WILL, on the show - I really don't. And I certainly don't WANT it to. But I couldn't get this out of my mind, and was encouraged to get it out of my system by Eolivet (thank you so much for the encouragement!), so... here it is._

_I'll warn you now, it deserves the M-rating, and it's Matthew/Lavinia, and it's really.. well, emotionally quite dark. I honestly won't blame you if you don't want to read it! But I appreciate it if you do. :)_

_(Sorry Matthew!)  
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><p><strong><span>Driving Out the Dark<span>**_  
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The brief weeks of Matthew's leave were precious to him, so precious. To be back in England, no matter how briefly, was always a sweet relief. The simple beauty of flowers, trees, even grass, to pass through towns and villages that were not wrecked, shattered, littered with bodies and bits of bodies, helped to remind him of what he was fighting to save. Oh, how he needed a reason for it. He treasured the precious time he was able to snatch with Lavinia, so calming and comforting, so wholesome, sweet, pretty, after indeterminable weeks and months with men who were dirty, smelly, coarse – fond though he was of them all, they just could not compare to her. Though he loved his comrades, really loved them, in the way you must somehow love people who've accompanied you to hell and back and been able to laugh about it afterwards, it was not quite the same as spending time with his fiancée. Her innocence, the fact that she was unscathed, not even touched by the dreadful fingers of war (except for himself, he thought wryly), made her the most precious creature in the world. She was pure.

This time, though, something was different. Lavinia had sensed it in him since he had returned to London a week ago. Far more than usual, he had appeared withdrawn, subdued, shaken. Unable to settle. Of course, she wasn't blind, she'd read the papers – they'd been full of the fighting on the Somme, for the past two months nearly, the terrible details gradually working their way out into public consciousness. Matthew had been there, she knew that much, but beyond that he remained tight-lipped.

How could she possibly understand? How he'd stood on the firestep, blowing a whistle to send his men walking into the storm. Bloody _walking_. As soon as he'd climbed up, rifle already raised, he'd known something was wrong. The artillery barrage was supposed to have cleared the German lines, but within mere yards it was sickeningly obvious that it hadn't worked, and now they were _walking_ into the deafening rattle of machine gun fire. Nearly his entire company had been wiped out in little under half an hour. God only knew how he'd survived, with only a bullet through the shoulder. How could she understand how he'd hidden for hours in a shallow shell hole, sheltering from the bullets behind a thrown-together barricade of human detritus until nightfall? How he'd crawled on his belly back to the line, to a soundtrack of pathetic moans and cries from the wounded and dying. How he'd spent the entire night then slithering between shell-holes with any man he could find to drag them back, heaving them across the churned mud ignoring the blinding pain in his shoulder, the going devastatingly slow as they had to take shelter every few metres from the snipers. And then again the next night. And the next.

Every leave was bittersweet, but this one even more so. After so much death and destruction, the loss of so many friends and so many nameless men beyond that (it had taken him days to send out all the telegrams), even the life he treasured so back in London did little to comfort him, as little as the medal he'd earned for his efforts. He didn't want a bloody medal. It didn't bring anyone back.

Beyond all that, something else had struck Matthew terribly. As they strolled arm in arm through St James' Park, he looked at Lavinia beside him, trying to raise a weak smile to meet hers. She was so utterly wonderful in every way. But as Matthew had lain under the cover of still-warm bodies, bleeding and trembling from fear and pain, contemplating the very likely event of his death, it had not been Lavinia that sprung to his mind. Immediately he had tried to conjure her, had tried to fix his thoughts upon her for comfort, but his fevered mind had rebelled against him and he could think only of… of Mary. It was as though she was haunting him, taunting him. He couldn't escape her even there, no matter how far or how hard he ran, she was always there. He knew it should be Lavinia who he clung to as he faced death, _wanted_ it to be… But her hold was simply not as strong.

He shuddered suddenly in the cool evening air. Tomorrow he was due back and he had to… _had_ to claim Lavinia in his heart. He wanted her there, needed her there, absolutely _didn't _need Mary there, he craved the peace, the security, the sure comfort that Lavinia could give him.

"Matthew? Darling, are you alright?" She rubbed his arm warmly at his shudder.

"Yes, I… No – God, I don't even know," he muttered painfully, staring off in the distance somewhere.

"Oh, Matthew." Lavinia tugged on his arm, stopping him and pulling him gently to face her. She looked up at him with a sad smile, before wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, resting her cheek against his uninjured shoulder, pressing herself against the rough fabric of his greatcoat.

Her warm embrace immediately comforted him a little. He held her closely, one hand protectively clasping the back of her head below her hat while his other arm hugged around her back, rubbing up and down in fond comforting gesture that reassured himself as much as her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her neck. "I'm so sorry. I've not been the best company, have I."

"Don't say that," she whispered sharply back, rebuking him gently. "Matthew, I simply thank God you're here at all, whatever state you're in. I'm just glad I've been able to have you for a little while, before you…"

Trailing off into silence, she pressed her eyes closed against hot tears that threatened. Their time was always so short, too short.

"I know. I know. Don't think about it."

He didn't want to think about it himself. Normally he bore it pretty well, was quite content to get back out again, but this time he couldn't shake the cold fear in his gut at the prospect of returning. This time, more than any other before, he felt horribly aware that it could be the last night he ever spent in England. He might never even see Downton – _stop it._ He knew that once he'd left, as soon as he boarded the train, the ship, the train again, trudged the long miles back to the front line and back to the trench, he'd be perfectly alright, the cool, collected officer once more. But now, here, tonight, with her, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving.

"I'm trying not to." A little, bitter laugh left her lips, lost in his shoulder. "I wish you didn't have to – I wish I could just – I wish there was something –"

As her words tumbled into Matthew's hearing, a thought suddenly hit him. A mad thought, completely and utterly mad but maybe, maybe…

"Come back with me."

He couldn't let her go. Not now, not tonight. The prospect of this night, alone, in his cold rented room above a shop before he'd have to leave in the morning was utterly unbearable. To leave this life, her warm, precious, darling _life_ to face all the death again… He didn't want to think of Mary again. It hurt too much, the wound was still too deep. He needed to drive her out, to drive Lavinia in, to claim her and stake her place firmly in his heart and his future.

She looked up at him sharply, eyes wide, not comprehending.

"Matthew, what –"

"Tonight. Come back with me, stay with me. Don't leave me. Please." The more he turned it over in his mind, begged her with his eyes, pleaded her with his words, the more the idea stuck. In so many ways it was insane, mad, stupid, certainly unthinkable, but… Matthew swallowed hard. The very contemplation terrified him, but… would it be so very wrong? He knew plenty of men who found comfort like this, comfort in the warm thrill of a woman's body, alive, pulsing, to drive away just for a little while the cold reality of death. Why… why should he not? He needed her, now more than ever before, he needed her. And surely… surely better like this, with his fiancée, his sweet, darling Lavinia, the woman he intended to marry, if he might never see her again… Surely better this way than those men who sought similar comfort in the brothels of the villages behind front lines?

He trembled in her arms, trembled at the sheer prospect of what he was asking her, what he was asking of himself. Lavinia blinked up at him, clutching his arms tightly.

"I… Oh Matthew, surely you realise –"

"I know." He bent his head and kissed her, kissed her with a desperation borne of longing and desire and desperation. After a moment he leaned back, gazing at her piercingly. "I'll – understand, of course I will, you don't… But Lavinia, I might never… God, I don't know, I just… Please." His voice shook, his whole body shook.

Silently, her eyes meeting his in complete trust… she nodded.

Matthew stopped thinking. He didn't think as they took a taxicab back to his room, didn't think as they stopped off for Lavinia to telegram her father with some mindless excuse as to why she wouldn't be home that night. He simply gripped her hand, fearing that if he let go he'd somehow lose his nerve or lose her or lose _something_.

By the time they arrived, the sun was just setting, leaving his room dim and shadowy. Matthew didn't switch the light on. He threw his coat onto the stand by the door, then lifted Lavinia's from her shoulders and put it by his, before looking around slightly apologetically. It was dire, really; just a single room with a washbasin in the corner, threadbare curtains and a rickety-looking bed against the middle of the wall. It was cheap. It was all he'd needed for a few days, but now, with her here, he felt suddenly a little ashamed of it. Sorry that he couldn't give her more.

"It isn't much, I'm sorry," he frowned gently, running his hands up and down her arms to clasp hers between them.

"It's alright."

"If you… If you've changed your mind, Lavinia, we don't have to – I won't mind, it's not too –"

"Matthew." She silenced him with a finger softly on his lips. She smiled, lips trembling a little with nerves. "It's alright. I want to."

He sighed, a mild sense of relief and acceptance washing over him. And then he stopped thinking again and kissed her.

They were breathless, frantic, awkward as they kissed and hastily shed their clothes. The bed creaked loudly, in protest, as they fell upon it. Hands roamed, fumbling, unsure, quiet gasps and moans broke the evening silence, lips tasted, exploring, testing.

As Matthew lay above her, fingers running through her loose strawberry-blonde curls as his lips worked over the pale skin of her neck, breath catching as she shifted eagerly under him, he couldn't quite shake a feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling that somehow, this wasn't quite right. This shouldn't happen here, not like this, not to her – pure, sweet, shy Lavinia, so trusting of him – he felt as though he were spoiling her. What if he never came back? He'd have ruined her with this. Tainted her with his blood-soiled hands. But… she was so warm under him, so vibrant, her skin was hot and he could feel her heartbeat and he needed…

Suddenly her leg hooked over his hip, shifting his body against hers causing him to raise his head sharply, meeting her eyes. He gazed down at her; her hand was stroking up and down his back, her eyes were wide and trusting and unfocussed… For some reason he hadn't quite expected the wave of arousal that suddenly washed over him, the sensations flooding through his body seeming somehow disconnected from his mind. His breath came in short, shallow gasps as he felt his cheeks flush with colour, taking in her swollen lips, the reality of what they were doing breaking into his awareness with startling clarity.

Her hand ran up his arm, clutched at his shoulder, moved to clasp his cheek gently.

"Matthew…" She murmured softly, eyes pleading with him. He simply nodded, smiling tremulously, breathlessly.

He bent down, kissed her cheek then tucked his head against her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. And all at once he felt her body accept him, heard her sharp gasp as her fingers gripped his shoulders tighter for a second, nails scratching his skin lightly.

"Sorry… I'm sorry –"

"Hush," she whispered, breath hot against his shoulder. He could feel her smile against him and he grinned in response, grazing his lips along her shoulder as he started to shift gently, so gently, head beginning to swim in exhilaration.

In the darkness their bodies writhed together, slowly at first, building swiftly in speed and passion. There was a quiet, desperate intensity behind it, raw longing, tinged with bittersweet pain and pleasure intermingling. This, this would he cling to, when he was surrounded by grim trench walls and bodies, constrained in his drab, mud-stiffened uniform, he would remember this. _Lavinia. Lavinia… Mary._

He gasped, hips jerking sharply as she broke into his clouded, desire-fogged mind. Lavinia's soft, responsive moan sent a stab of uncomfortable guilt mingling into his arousal. It was dark, his eyes were closed, he wasn't thinking… It could so easily be Mary… Her warm, creamy body beneath him, around him, Mary… _God, stop it. _Pricking in the back of his mind was the tiny flit of regret that he'd always thought it would be Mary… _For God's sake, stop it! _Her legs were wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, encompassing him entirely, her fingers grasped at his back and shoulders and in his hair. _Lavinia, you need her. You need her. _

Clenching his teeth, he curled his arms around her shoulders and thrust his hips more sharply, more urgently. Driving out thoughts of Mary, driving out thoughts of anything at all, anything bar Lavinia who he wanted to treasure and savour, driving out thoughts of destruction and horror with her warmth and her body. He wanted to lose himself, lose himself entirely, sinking into the intoxicating fog of sensation that pulsed through him in dizzying waves.

She trembled beneath him. Her soft cries of pleasure, building in volume and releasing in gasped breaths in time with his movements, broke into Matthew's awareness, instinctively spurring him on and encouraging him. As he gave in to the raw physical pleasure he pounded harder, allowing the feelings pouring through his body to drown out and silence the cold stabbing doubt in his mind, the pricking thought of Mary at the back of it, the awareness of his own filth compared to Lavinia's unstained innocence; he needed to ignore all that, needed the warmth of the woman beneath him who he could feel shuddering and breaking and crying out in pleasure…

Everything suddenly seemed to fuse in a storm of movement and sensation and pleasure. Matthew felt as though he were at a precipice; he held on, held on, wanting to stay lost in this sea of irrational, unthinking pleasure and life and warmth, he held on as long as he could but then all at once he tipped over the edge and broke apart in her arms. He held on to her tightly, biting back a scream into her shoulder as he jerked against her, felt her spasm around him, fresh waves of pure and unbearable sensation breaking over him.

And just like that it was over.

He clutched her, shaking all over. She was hugging him tightly, hands moving up and down his back as her legs slowly slid down his. Matthew could feel her breath against his neck, could feel her pulse racing still as they both slowly calmed. He felt as though he should kiss her. He felt as though he should feel differently to how he did. Elated, fulfilled, something like that… But he felt only strangely empty. He realised as he carefully untangled his arms from her shoulders that his cheek was wet.

Aching slightly, he pushed himself onto his elbows, casting his eyes in wonder over the woman beneath him. Lavinia looked utterly relaxed, a languid smile playing over her face as she gazed up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Oh, Matthew…" She breathed softly. Her hand caressed his cheek tenderly, thumb brushing softly over his lips. "I love you, my darling Matthew…"

Matthew simply gazed at her for a moment in a sort of bewilderment, as though he couldn't quite process what had happened. He certainly couldn't process what he felt. But then, he had no idea how he was supposed to feel. He'd needed her, he _had_ needed her, and he loved her… With a tremulous smile, he said nothing but pressed a tender kiss to her hot, damp forehead, before shifting to lie slightly beside her. The bed was too small, really too small, so he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her closely into him. She sighed contentedly as she snuggled against his chest.

Eventually, her breathing slowed and regulated. Matthew felt it, and considered the beauty of hearing breath slow like that merely in sleep, rather than… He shuddered and held her tighter. Sleep eluded him for a long time. He felt hot, cramped, stifled with her against him in the small space.

He couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop wondering how it might have been different with… Trembling in a cold sweat, he carefully untangled his arms from her and got up. As he paced across the floor in the moonlight his foot caught their scattered clothes; the sharp reminder of his nakedness made him suddenly uncomfortable. He looked back at Lavinia, in his bed, her bare arm and shoulder hugging the sheets about her though she slept soundly.

What had he done? For one moment, one awful moment of clarity, he allowed his mind to entertain the thought it had been grasping at, that he had ignored and denied… That he'd just needed _someone_. That if he was brutally honest with himself… _Mary_… He'd rather it had been her. That aside from the raw physical need for human warmth and contact, he'd wanted to because a small, stupid part of him had hoped that sharing this with Lavinia would cement her into his treacherous mind, instead of…

He scrambled over their clothes to the basin and was sick into it. Shaking violently, hot tears stinging the back of his eyes, he breathed deeply for a few minutes but was sick again. Slowly, still shaking, he straightened and rinsed his mouth out, then splashed cold water over his face. He felt no better.

Desperately, he pressed his fists against his closed eyes, thinking, thinking, forcing his officer mentality to the surface of his own weak mind. What had he done… What could he do?

In… five hours he would board the train. Lavinia… Damn, he could do it. She couldn't know how wrong he felt, it would pass anyway, it was just the heat of the moment… No. He would hold her and kiss her and smile at her through breakfast and wave her goodbye because he _loved her_. He _did_ love her. She was fragile and innocent and unspoilt… Had been… Only spoilt by him and he'd be damned if he didn't marry her and love her now. It would be easier, easier once he was away, they could write, she'd comfort him… It would be better.

One final time, Matthew threw some cold water on his face and scrubbed a thin towel over it to dry. He picked his way back to the bed – stopping on the way to pull on some underpants at least – and carefully climbed back into bed, trembling as he pulled Lavinia against him. She wriggled softly in her sleep with a contented murmur. Matthew sighed deeply, pressed his eyes closed and wrapped his arms tighter around her.

He stopped thinking. It was best that way.

**Fin**

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><p>AN: _If you've got to the end, firstly well done! and secondly, I do hugely appreciate you having read this, because I know it's not most people's cup of tea (or mine, even!), and.. yeah.. Thank you! That being the case, even more so than usual perhaps, I'd hugely appreciate any comments and reviews - I'm really curious to know what you think about this scenario's plausibility. Anyway - thank you! And... sorry!_


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